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Class 

Book 

CopyrightK°_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



PANSIES 

FOR 

THOUGHT 



BY 

JENNIE ATWOOD CASE 



f Ube 1knfc{?erbocfter press 
19 15 






Copyright by 

ELIZABETH CASE 

1915 




JAN -I 1916 



)CLA420264 



To live in the hearts of those we leave 
behind is not to die.'' 




Je^t^t^^^i^^^ Citct.rtrzT-cC ^Ci^, 



August 20, 1849 
January 15, 1914 



Dedication 

In the name of Jennie Atwood Case, this little 
Gift Book is lovingly dedicated to ''The Me- 
morial Shakespeare Circle," by her daughters 

Bessie and Marian. 



IV 



There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; 
pray, love, remember ; and there is pansies, that's 
for thoughts." — Hamlet, 



Preface 

It seems fitting that this little book of verse 
should be dedicated to those in whose midst 
this beloved leader so earnestly and unremit- 
tingly labored. 

Daughter of the Rev. Joseph Atwood, her girl- 
hood was passed in a peculiarly delightful en- 
vironment. Reared in an atmosphere of books 
and the close companionship of her noted father 
and his colleagues, the active young mind was 
quick to develop under such favorable influences 
and from it blossomed the keen, vigorous intel- 
lect which covered a long, useful, active life and 
gave so abundantly of happiness and helpful- 
ness to others. With a nature so filled with 
enthusiasm, an imagination so active, a mind so 
well stored and so eager to impart to others, and 
a heart so filled with love and sympathetic un- 
derstanding, she was a delightful and adaptable 
companion to all ages. 

Among the most fortunate have been the 
members of her *' Circle" who, for so many 
years, profited by her store of knowledge, her 
keen analytical mind, and her wonderful inter- 
pretive ability as a Shakespearean scholar and 
dramatist. 

In conclusion it may be in keeping to say 
vii 



that the contents of this little book had not 
been written for publication by the gentle 
authoress, being a miscellaneous collection of 
verse, jotted down from time to time in the 
odd moments of her busy life — often an outlet 
for the mystic girl-mind^ — so sweetly serious — 
the brooding tenderness of the mother-heart — 
the loving pride in her wifehood or the quick 
sympathy or interest in friend or neighbor and, 
still more often, the thoughtful communings with 
self or with her God. 

*'But thy eternal summer shall not fade — 
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his 

shade. 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest/' 
Shakespeare — Sonnet xviii. 



vui 



CONTENTS 








PAGE 


Memories 






I 


Birthday Reflections 






6 


An Apostrophe to the Sea 






10 


The Legend of St. Christopher 






12 


A Reminiscence .... 






21 


Moving ..... 






23 


A True Sweeping Story 






25 


A Tale of Ancient Rome . 






27 


An Invocation and a Wail 






33 


Shakespeare .... 






. 34 


Merrie England 






35 


Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Love 






39 


part first .... 






40 


PART SECOND .... 






42 


PART THIRD .... 






43 


PART FOURTH .... 






. 44 


A Christmas Ode 






45 


A Valentine .... 






. 47 


The City Streets 






. 48 



IX 



PAGE 

Helen 50 

Life and Love 53 

His Valentine 55 

A Season's Review .... . . 56 

Vessie 59 

Valentine . . . . . . . .61 

Love's Voyage 62 

Cast Thy Burden on the Lord . . .63 

She Hath Done What She Could . . .64 



PANSIES FOR THOUGHT 



Memories 

When the long, fair day is ended and the restless 

world is still, — 
When the glimmer of the moonlight softly 

touches wave and hill, — 
When the cloistered stars that, nunlike, walk 

the holy aisles of heaven, 
Beckon with their fairy twinkle to that realm 

where crowns are given, 

Then I sit beside the window, gazing out into 

the night — 
While my ever active fancy plumes herself for 

airy flight. 
After sailing through the ether, 'mong the stars 

and o'er the sea, 
Suddenly, with strange transition, she gives 

place to memory. 

Ah, with what a strange exactness, does remem- 
brance bring to view 

All the weary, mazy windings that the years 
have struggled through. 

And how clearly on the canvas can I note each 
tiny ray 

Of sweet hope and peace and blessing that IVe 
lost upon the^'way ! 
I 



While I sigh, yet linger, gazing, suddenly before 

me flits. 
Full of life and joy, a maiden, on whose brow 

the Springtime sits; 
Not a thought of cbming Summer, with its roses 

and perfume. 
Fills her heart with restless longings, for the 

Springtime seems all bloom. 



But the fair, sweet Summer cometh — ah, the 

tears will start and flow, 
As I mark with what abandon do the blithe 

years come and go. 
Strolling through the pleasant woodlands, 

gathering none but fairest flowers, 
How the ring of careless laughter and the gay 

flow of the hours 



Would be hushed — and quickly ended, could 

the future's mystic screen 
Rise, and show the hoped-for sunlight with the 

shadows cold between; 
Not a thought of coming Autumn, with its 

blasted bloom and sighs, 
Comes to haunt this thoughtless maiden, with 

the hope-light in her eyes. 

But, as surely as the Summer follows all the 

bloom of Spring, 
Just so surely does the Summer in its wake the 

Autumn bring; 

2 



As I still am held in thralldom, by these pictures 

of the past, 
Wondering why such joy and beauty cannot 

through a lifetime last, 

On the canvas, still before me, comes a figure 

pale and sad — 
Oh, have pity! Can this woman be the maiden, 

once so glad? 
Over ruined fairy-castles, over shattered hopes 

and loves 
Now I see her sadly bending, — and no heavenly 

white-winged doves 

Bearing Hope's fair olive branches to her dis- 
appointed heart. 

Flit across the soul's horizon and with blessing 
heal the smart — 

No! for, while I gaze and listen, from her lips 
there comes a moan 

And a grievous, mournful sobbing, as she mur- 
murs, sad and lone : 

** Ah, dear God! how cruel, cruel, thus to lay my 
treasures low, — 

Thus to smite my precious idols, when my heart- 
strings quiver so! " 

But no comfort and no healing to her stricken 
heart can come, 

While that worldly love and blindness desecrate 
the soul's pure home ! 
3 



Now my eyes are almost weary of the pictures 

and the play, — 
Yet, I cannot choose but linger — cannot, cannot 

go away 
*Til this erring one is pardoned — 'til some ray 

of heavenly light 
'Luminates the darkened canvas — dissipates 

the clouds of night. 

Then the sad voice slowly falters, while the light 

of Love divine 
Gently falls on form and feature, ** Saviour, 

make me wholly thine ! 
Answer now my prayer for patience — ^let Thy 

Spirit be my guide — 
Free me now from all complainings-:— keep me 

ever near Thy side ! '' 

As the pictures, that are hanging all along on 
Memory's wall, 

Fade, and glimmer in the distance, now, me- 
thinks I catch the fall 

And the flow of mournful music, like the wind- 
harps' solemn strain 

Or, the fond, sweet tones of loved ones, that we 
ne'er shall hear again. 

While the melancholy music pulses through and 

through my soul. 
With a bitterness and anguish that I cannot well 

control, — 

4 



By some change of harp or harpist, all the wailing 

turns to joy — 
And a calm, ecstatic rapture all my faculties 

employ. 

Not a thought of all the sorrow that lies strewn 

along Life's way. 
Comes to chase away the gladness, or to shade 

the Light of Day — 
For, I seem to see, up yonder, — ^far away above 

the stars, 
Holy, glorious a region that no trail of sin e'er 

mars ; 

There no changes e'er bewilder — there can come 

no misty night — 
Only Christ, and Heaven and Beauty — only 

Life, and Love and Light ! 



BirtKday Reflections 

{On her nineteenth birthday) 

All day long have I sat by this open western 
window, and gazed out upon the lovely rural 
picture which lies before me — the broad field 
of ripening grain waving gently and trembling 
like a coy maiden at every whisper of the per- 
fume-laden wind and, just beyond, studded 
with evergreens, a gently sloping hill, covered 
with one of Nature's softest and greenest of 
carpets; while above and over all, stretches the 
beautiful deep blue, across the surface of which 
wander soft, fair clouds with their snowy fleeces 
bathed in the flickering, golden sunlight. Yet, 
while gazing out dreamily upon the scene, I have 
scarcely noticed the beauty. Like a traveler, 
who, after years of absence, wearily sits down 
among the misty ruins of what once constituted 
his childhood's beautiful home, and taking up 
one fondly remembered relic after another, feels 
a pall-like sadness stealing over him, — so, as I 
have been sitting here, have my thoughts been 
wandering back ''under snow-encumbered 
branches," over summer roses and faded flowers, 
to the Springtime and Summer of my life — 
glancing with a sweet sadness at the many once 

6 



brilliant, but now trampled, blighted dreams 
lying at my feet. No note or sound of life or 
joy comes up from these ruins of the past- 
naught but a weird, melancholy stillness. Ah, 
me! Another birthday! How like a vanished 
dream it seems! ** Life's currents'' have drifted 
me very surely and swiftly on into womanhood — 
the fairyland of all youth's reveries — so that I 
have scarcely noticed the manifold changes 
or the many *'lost" treasures. While passing 
through the charmed gateway of youth, the life 
beyond seemed only as the lovely ''vale of 
Arno, " with its enchanting scenery of groves 
and garden grottoes, palaces and towers; its 
transparent lakes, delicious air, and sunny skies. 
Life, so far, has not been a success with me — 
rather, a failure. And to-day, I look back and 
can only see wrecked resolutions, withered hopes, 
faded dreams, and blank wastes, where should 
have been luxurious blossoms of future blessed- 
ness. I unwittingly wandered into the wrong 
path, till my vision became mazed and blinded, 
and I knew not that I was groping my way in 
darkness. But God has dispatched to me a 
messenger, clothed in the somber garb of afflic- 
tion, who, though he be grim and exceedingly 
disagreeable, bears in his hand a light, which 
illumines the blackness and discovers to me 
horrible quicksands and yawning gulfs into 
which I was momentarily liable to fall. And, as 
step by step, I stumblingly endeavor to follow 
the beautiful beacon, occasionally there perches 
near me a bird called Hope, with softly tinted 

7 



wings and brilliant plumage, which beguiles the 
weariness with such snatches of exquisite melody 
as thrilled my whole being with love and joyous- 
ness. I know that this bird has flown straight 
from Heaven's elysian bowers, for no earthly 
songster could equal in peaceful, holy sweetness 
its thrilling strains. But, strange to say, this 
light only enables me to see the immediate path 
in which I am now traveling, and that through 
which I have wandered. It lightens not the 
path ahead; therein lie only dimness and blank 
uncertainty. I can only trust the light to make 
the revelations. Oh Life! Life! Mysterious 
Life ! *' Like the swell of some sweet tune, morn- 
ing rises into noon — May glides onward into 
June.*' With Longfellow this may have been 
the case, but I wonder how many of earth's 
children find life only **like the swell of some 
sweet tune.'' How many are from morning 
until noon, learning life's mysterious lessons — 
and some only begin to learn them as *' noon's 
broad, fervid, earnest light is shaded in the 
solemn night." It seems to me that no soul can 
fully appreciate the high, holy uses of life until 
it is *' tried." ''Tried, either by disappointment, 
bereavement, poverty, affliction or some one of 
the human sorrows which lurks in every path 
and by-path of our earthly journey. 'Tis only 
this that can disenchant the heart of youth's 
enraptured visions, chase away with shadows, 
romance's sunlight, and develop most fully the 
holier and more spiritual part of our natures; 
and just in proportion as our better natures are 

8 



brought into action, do we learn how to live, 
'Tis true that many persist in misunderstanding 
the design of affliction, and instead of allowing 
it to lead them to the pure, clear waters of life's 
true fountain, wander farther from it, and drink 
deeper draughts of the world's deceptive, impure 
springs. But ah! their future hidden lives! We 
cannot tell how the waves of remorse sweep over 
them and almost bury them in the dark waters 
of the sea of despair, nor how they 

*' Year by year alone 
Sit brooding in the ruins of a life. 
Nightmare of youth, the spectre of themselves." 

God only knows! But ah, what a vastly differ- 
ent picture is presented by those who having 
been placed in the ''furnace, " come forth ''puri- 
fied"; beautifully and spiritually symmetri- 
cal. And how sweetly do their lives go out at 
last ! Just as the setting sun, after a clear day 
casts back over all the path it has traveled, 
broad sweeps of purple and golden glory, so 
God's purified human lights, after lives spent in 
patient endurance and Christ-service, and in 
brightening the pathway of many a weary, 
earthly wanderer, leave behind them precious, 
golden blessings which radiate all their past, and 
insure golden palms and crowns beyond the 
western hills. 

God only grant that my pilgrimage may end 
thus! 



An ApostropHe to tKe Sea 

I love the sea, the great, wide sea. 
The swelling, foaming, dashing sea ! 
When Boreas reigns, with gales set free, 
Oh, then I love the bounding sea! 
'Tis fascinating when 'tis wild. 
And holds me spellbound, like a child, 
Oh billowy sea! 

I love the sea, the placid sea! 
The sea that wooes and calls to me ; 
And, as I sit upon the sand. 
While lazy waves lap soft the strand, 
I long to lie upon yon crest 
And go to sleep on ocean's breast, 
Oh fair, blue sea ! 

I love the sea, the boundless sea, 
And long to solve its mystery, — 
I would that once old Neptune bold 
Would all its secrets weird unfold. 
That by some mystic, magic art. 
The waters of the sea might part. 
Mysterious sea ! 

What visions then might daze my eyes, 
What genii of the deep might rise, 
What wealth, what wonders little guessed,- 
What horrors then would be confessed ! 

lO 



Oh sea, Oh hungry, cruel sea. 

And yet I love thy witchery, 

Oh heartless sea! 

Far out I spy the stately ships, 
And yon a sea-gull softly dips 
His wings in foam of swelling wave. 
Then, beating skyward, seeks to lave 
His graceful form in sunlight sweet, 
Where sky and billow seem to meet. 
Oh dreamy sea ! 

Oh sea, Oh sea. Oh pensive sea! 
You kindle fondest memory. 
Recalling those, who, by my side. 
Have loved to watch thy swelling tide. 
Whose feet no longer tread thy sands. 
But wander far through heavenly lands. 
Oh sad, sad sea ! 

Oh sea, imperious, grand old sea! 
When earth's great Maker fashioned thee. 
He meant to give to us a sense 
Of His own dread omnipotence. 
We'll hope some time to understand 
The mystery of thy guiding Hand, 
Fathomless sea ! 

And, when shall end thy wondrous sway. 
When God's voice thunders to thee *'Stay!'' 
When human pulses cease to thrill, 
And all earth's noise is hushed and still. 
May Paradise some wonder hold. 
Like this, that thy wild waves enfold. 
Majestic sea! 

II 



TKe L^e^exid of St. CKristopHer 

In the days of song and story, 

Ere the world had grown too wise, 

Lived a Canaanitish giant, 

Widely famed for strength and size. 

This Offero, such his name was, 

Fully conscious of his power, 
Vowed to serve the greatest monarch, 

Him before whom men should cower. 



Far and wide the giant traveled, 
'Til he found the king he sought; 

Eagerly the monarch hailed him. 

Pleased to hear the deeds he'd wrought. 

But, one day, came traveling minstrels. 

And before the king they sang 
Weirdest songs, through whose wild numbers, 

Satan's name full often rang. 

Then, the giant, keenly curious, 
Noticed that this monarch great, 

Every time the Fiend was mentioned. 
Crossed himself, with pompous state. 

Straight Offero asked his lordship, 
What this act of homage meant, — 

Finding that the king feared Satan, 
From his court the giant went. 

12 



Far and wide again he traveled, 
Seeking him whose very name 

Could make mightiest princes tremble, 
And all other service tame. 

Now, at last, almost aweary. 

On a desert plain he spied, 
Armfed men, in crowding masses. 

Marching on in strength and pride. 

And, as leader, saw a being 

Terrible of aspect, grim. 
Who, when questioned by the giant. 

Answered, ''I am Satan, whom 

All the world doth fear, yet worship; 

Wilt thou bind thyself to me?'' 
Said Offero, — *'Lo, thy servant! 

None shall I serve now but thee! " 

So, they traveled on together. 

Till they came where four roads met, — 
There, up by the wayside looming. 

Had a pure white cross been set. 

When the Fiend saw this sweet symbol, 

Suddenly he shook with fear. 
And with speed he turned his footsteps. 

Leaving it far in the rear. 

Said Offero, "Why this trembling?" 
Satan faltered, ''On that cross 

Died the Christ, whose name is Jesus, 
Him I fear, and through Him, loss. " 
13 



Hearing this, the giant answered, 
*'Then is there One greater still; 

Him rU serve, I'll go and find Him; 
Thus shall I fulfil my will." 

Now, a third time, runs the legend, 

Did he travel far and wide, 
'Til he met a holy hermit, 

In whose cell he did abide 

For a time, while gleaning knowledge 
Of the Christ he meant to serve ; 

But, at last, the hard conditions, 
From his purpose made him swerve. 

For, the hermit told him plainly, 
That he must both fast and pray ; 

This, Offero said, he would not, 

Since 'twould take his strength away. 

** Well, " the man of God then answered, 
''There's a river, stony, deep, 

Often swelled to overflowing, 

By the storms which o'er it sweep. 

**In its current, many people 

Lose their lives from day to day ; 

Do thou bear the weak and weary 
Through its waters, on their way, — 

**And it may be that this service 

Will find favor in His sight. 
Whom we call the 'King of Heaven,' 

In whom dwelleth naught but light." 
14 



Gladly then exclaimed the giant, 
**This, the service you have named, 

Suits me well, and I shall cherish, 
Hope of pleasing King so famed.'' 

On his way he went rejoicing ; 

And his arm, with strength replete, 
Rooted up a stately palm-tree, 

Which, as staff, he deemed most meet. 

By that river, famed in story. 
Which we call the river Rhine, 

Did the giant labor, tireless, 
Watching, hoping for some sign 

Which might show him that his labors 

Were accepted by his King, 
And that he who could not worship. 

Might with favor service bring. 

So, the people loved Offero, 

And they named him, far and wide 

(Since the Christ inspired his service), 
Christopher, the river guide. 

Now, one night, while he lay resting, 
Out upon the night breeze wild, 

Came the plaintive, pleading accents 
Of a weary little child. 

Calling him to bear him quickly. 
Through the waters deep and wide, 

And, to land him, ere the morning, 
Safely on the other side. 
15 



Then, he looked, but seeing no one, 
Once again his bed he sought ; 

Still the plaintive Voice entreating, 
Christopher a lantern brought. 

And his search was soon rewarded 

By the finding of a child. 
Whom he lifted to his shoulders, 

And, with speech and manners mild, 

Started on the journey over, — 
But, to Christopher's surprise. 

Ere the task was half completed. 
Did the waters higher rise. 

Wild the winds blew, waves roared madly, 
And the stream was now a flood, — 

While the child grew more a burden, — 
Struggle bravely as he would, 

'Til it seemed that he was sinking. 
With the weight so heavy grown, 

And great fear possessed his spirit, — 
Fear which he had never known. 

But, his courage soon renewing, 
On he bravely fought his way, 

*Til the other side he reached. 
Just as dawn proclaimed the day. 

Setting down the child most gently, 
Looked he at him with surprise, — 

Then, *'Who art thou, child, that bringeth 
Peril to me in this wise? 
i6 



*'Had I all the whole world carried, 
Heavier had my load not been! '' 

Said the child, ''Thou need'st not marvel 
At the wonder thou hast seen. 

*'For thou'st carried on thy shoulders 
Not the sad world's weight alone. 

But hast borne the One who made it, 
Him who sits on Heaven's high throne. 

*'Thou would'st serve me in thy labor, 
And these kind deeds please me well, — 

Now in token of my favor. 

Plant thy staff where this befell. 

**And 'twill bear both leaves and fruitage. 
Which will prove to you my love. 

And will help you to remember 
That your Master dwells above." 

Christopher obeyed him promptly, 
When, behold! his staff of palm 

Covered was with dates in clusters. 

While his heart breathed forth a psalm. 

As the wonder which possessed him 
Thrilled and surged his being through, 

Suddenly the vision vanished. 
And his soul its Master knew. 

On his face he fell and worshiped. 
And confessed the power divine ; 

Pledged anew his life and labor, 
On this consecrated shrine. 
17 



All the yearnings which had filled him, 

To perform some service great, 
All his hopes, all proud ambitions. 

Now on this new mystery wait. 

Oh, the joy of that bright morning! 

Oh, the spirit's glad release! 
All the tumult of his nature 

Hushed in everlasting peace ! 

Now, the legend says, he journeyed 
From that place to Samos fair, — 

Many Christians, harassed, tortured. 
Suffered death in prisons there. 

Here he labored for their safety, 

Cheered, encouraged fainting hearts, 

And, with faith, did bid defiance 
To the heathen's deadly darts. 

For, one day, a villain struck him, — 

Christopher returned no blow, 
Saying, ''Were I not a Christian, 

Thou my strength of arm should'st know! *' 

Then, the king of that wild country 
Ordered men to seize the saint, — 

Who, when brought in pomp before him, 
Caused the king to quake and faint. 

When restored, and grown accustomed 

To the giant's massive size, 
Straight he asked his name and station, 

Growing vexed at his replies, 
i8 



For his tales of Christ, the mighty, 
Angered much the heathen king, 

So he had him seized and tortured. 
And to death he vowed to bring 

This, the mightiest of Christians, 

Who, when scourged, rejoiced the most, 

And who, of his trust in Jesus, 
So unceasingly did boast. 

Then, at last, the cruel mandate 
Of this wicked king went forth, — 

Christopher became a martyr. 
Passed a soul of priceless worth. 

In the calendar of sainthood, 

Stands full high his glowing name; 

And, for faith and holy purpose, 
He has won undying fame. 

Through the years, both art and legend 
Have immortalized his deeds, 

While the hunger of the spirit 
His example often feeds. 

O'er the seas, in loftiest places. 

Doth his massive image rise. 
And, from hearts of pure beholders. 

Every sorrow quickly flies. 

Such, at least, the thought of many; 

While, in rich cathedrals dim. 
Kneeling by some master's painting. 

Humble Christians pray to him. 
19 



In this life, so full of power, 

All may read a lesson sweet, 
Who would lay their loving service, 

Wholly at the Master's feet. 

And although a martyr's guerdon 

May not fall to us who read. 
Love and sacrifice for others 

To the golden portals lead. 

While the weight of grievous burdens, 

Patiently and bravely borne. 
Shall win Heaven's repose and radiance. 

And our God's sweet boon, ''Well done!** 

And the bright, eternal ages 

None too long will be, God knows, 

For the solving of life's mysteries. 
And the healing of life's woes. 

So, on Time's white, waiting pages, 

Let our names and records be 
Beautiful for worthy living. 

Stainless, and from errors free. 

But, if weakness, sins, and failures. 
Dirge-like, ring across the years. 

And we cannot see our Father, 

Through our scalding, blinding tears. 

In the wildness of our sorrow, 

Christ, our Mediator, Friend, 
We are sure will not forsake us, 

But will love us to the end. 

20 



Clasped in Arms so strong and loving, 
As we sail Life's stormy sea, 

We shall catch, above the conflict, 
Strains of angel minstrelsy. 

And, upon our brows, earth weary, 
Shall celestial breezes blow, 

While our barks drift on serenely, 
As the evening shadows glow. 

Into longed-for, heavenly harbors. 
Where the ''many mansions" be, — 

And where we shall share, unburdened, 
God's own immortality. 



A IVeminiscence 

One Sunday evening, late in May, 
My Love and I, at close of day. 

Sat by the window in our room. 

And as we watched the deepening gloom 

Which followed close on day's decline 
He placed his tender hand in mine, 

And gazing down into my face. 
As close I lay in his embrace, 

He told me how, in years agone. 

When he, a bachelor forlorn. 
Did wander far o'er land and sea. 

Without one passing thought of me ; 



How, when he gazed upon those scenes 
With which historic Europe teems, 

He oft was haunted by this thought : 
Where is the maiden, still unsought, 

With loving hands and tender heart. 
Who will with me in life take part ; 

And, by my side, rejoice to share 
The ills of life which all must bear ? 

Then back o'er seas again he came, 
To where the lights of home did flame. 

Fond friends there were to greet him there. 
Though still he missed that ''Fairest Fair/* 

Whom in his dreams he oft did see, 

Without once recognizing me. 
Then, soon it came by merest chance. 

That on my face he oft should glance ; 

The creature of his dreams he knew. 

Which caused ere long the ''I love you*' 

That ever still in human lives 

Is destined to make maidens wives. 

So now in loving peace we glide 
Together down Time's mystic tide; 

Looking in hope toward that fair clime 
Where ends forever all my rhyme. 



22 



Moving 

For, of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
The saddest are these: We're moving again ! 

After Whiitier. 

The springtime gladness fills the breast, 

The birds are on the wing. 
The violet lifts its perfumed head, 

All nature seems to sing. 

But, in my heart, the season's chime 

Doth find no echo sweet ; 
'Tis all because it's moving time. 

That sighing seems most meet. 

Before my tired vision flits 

A woman most forlorn ; 
The *' backache" wrings her spinal cord — 

Her frame is bent and worn. 

In all this diabolic scheme 

For wearing women out, 
We'll head the list of cruelties 

With one I'll speak about. 

*' House-hunting" is its nom-de-plume^ 

Its real name — *' distress!" 
And, of the whole leg-breaking list, 

None's worse, I must confess. 

We travel 'round from street to street, 

Of houses, view a score; 
While every friend we chance to meet 

Will give us news of more ! 
23 



And ojff we trot, by hope inspired, 

To see if ^Hhis will do"; 
We climb from bottom to the top 

Disgusted — glad when through. 

A *'flat" or two we then inspect, 

To give variety, 
And when night comes, we but have reached 

A full satiety. 

One house has cabinet mantels fine, 

But closets — only two ; 
Another wants a coat of paint, 

Besides repairs a few. 

We do not like the neighborhood 

Of one that's nice inside; 
And that one over on M street, 

I, somehow, can't abide! 

There's one, with plumbing all "au fait/' 

With decorations fine, 
With closets large, in every room, 

Just right for me and mine — 

But oh, the owner of the house 

Wants more than we can pay. 
And though it ''suits us to a T," 

We've got to answer ''nay." 

It's bad enough to be "torn up," 

And, for two months or more. 
Find nothing where it ought to be, 

And live on bare cold floor, 
24 



To find that though we'd just enough 
Of **real nice things" when straight, 

"When moving, oh, the worn, old stuff 
That went through our front gate ! 

To wear one's self to skin and bone 

With packing up, and then 
Unpacking everything we own, 

And ''set to rights" again, 

Without this first and awful care, 
Which comes to *' those who rent," 

Of hunting up a decent home. 
That won't take every cent. 

And if I can but reach that land 

Of golden glory built — 
By bearing, patient, all these ills. 

And living free frora guilt, 

The greatest charm of that fair realm, 

Where many mansions be. 
Will be the home quite free from rent. 

Which is reserved for me ! 
Poor me! 

A True S^weepin^ Story 

Two brides there were, once on a time, 
Whose families were friends — 

Each maid had won a fine young man. 
Which to this story lends 

An added interest, though sad 

It makes the sequel show, 
While to the prudent, who have thought, 

It doth with wisdom glow. 

25 



Now, one sweet bride was versed in much 

That pleases and delights — 
She could, with her accomplishments, 

Illuminate the nights, 

And thrill her Love's esthetic sense 

With music's rarest charms — 
She'd warble like an angel, till 

He'd clasp her in his arms. 

But oh, the sadness of it all! 

The house ne'er felt a broom — 
And where she trilled, and thrilled her spouse, 

Was such a dusty room ! 

In fact, their whole apartment grew 

So full of dirt and dust. 
Her husband's love grew cold and died, 

As one might know it must. 

And so, in spite of witching ways, 

Her music and her art. 
Because she did not wield a broom^ 

She lost her husband's heart ! 

The other bride, Christine by name, 

Just doted on a broom — 
And never was she happier. 

Than when she swept a room. 

Her husband's love just fairly blazed 

For his clean, tidy wife ! 
And when he joined her, tired, at night, 

*' Sweet Home" infused new life 
26 



Into that weary, care-worn man 
Who vowed that wedded bliss 

Depends on housewife's use of broom, 
Joined with her smile and kiss. 

So, Newly-Weds, now ponder well 
The lesson herein taught — 

If well applied, you'll find, on earthy 
The Paradise much sought. 



i\ Xale of Ancient IVome 

In days rife with legend and classical fable, 
Ere much of Rome's glory and splendor 
were gone, 

There dwelt in the wonderful, seven-hilled city 
A maiden, now famous in story and song. 

She claimed no descent from a line that was regal, 
Or boasted that princes her ancestors were ; 

Her birth was the humblest in that proud old 
city. 
Her fate, full of sadness, our pity must stir. 

Though humble, this young Roman damsel was 
fairer 
Than many a maiden of rich, princely birth, 
And, growing in favor with all thro' the city. 
Became highly prized for her beauty and 
worth. 

27 



It happened th^t over those Roman dominions 
A ruler called Claudius then held chief sway; 

A tyrant he was, of a council of tyrants,— 
They called them Decemvirs in that distant 
day. 

Whenever this Claudius strode through the 
Forum, 
With sullen demeanor and lowering glance, 
The people on all sides did shun his dread 
presence, 
And trembling with fear would eye him 
askance. 

Beside him, and ever a fitting attendant. 

Quite greedy and fox-like the vile Marcus 
stands ; 
His master's behests, be they ever so bloody. 
This varlet obeys, and with quite willing 
hands. 

It chanced soon, oh woeful and hapless recital, 
That fair young Virginia, with all her sweet 
charms. 
Did win, quite unconscious, the love and atten- 
tion 
{The cursed attention that only alarms) 

Of haughty, tyrannical Appius Claudius, 
Who, fixed on attaining the end he desired, 

Now orders the base and obedient Marcus 
To straightway lay hold on the innocent child. 
2S 



His plea or excuse is that she was his slave, 
And when she was twelve years old, stolen 
away, 
H^ $wears that all persons who venture to thwart 
him 
For mercy to Claudius the tyrant shall pray. 

Behold, now, how over those neighboring moun- 
tains. 
Where, in that dim distance the great gods 
did dwell. 
The sunlight of morning is breaking and flashing, 
And Creation's chorus night's hush doth dispel. 

The streets of the city with life now are teeming ; 

The buyers and sellers all bustling and keen ; 
The shops shining gayly with bright, old-time 
fabrics, 
And all Rome's enchantments enliven the 
scene. 

There, see young Virginia, how blithely she's 
smiling ! 

And fairer than flowers in blossoming May, 
With tablets and satchel to school she is bounding. 

Ah, fair young Virginia ! so happy to-day ! 

Now look! past the Forum how gayly she's 
tripping. 
So wholly unconscious of Fate's lurking harm, 
When forth strides the varlet, the serpent4ike 
Marcus, 
Who, black-browed and dreadful, is seizing 
her arm. 

29 



The startled young maiden with fright now is 
maddened, 
And struggUng with vigor endeavors to flee; 
Her screams, wild and piteous, arouse all the 
people, 
Who, justly indignant, to aid her agree. 

But, oh, saddest fortune, relentless and cruel. 
From that iron grasp she can never escape; 
She is hurried with force toward that despotic 
ruler, 
Who seems like a fiend, though he bears human 
shape. 

Ah, woe for the rights of the plebeian Romans! 

Ah, woe for the sanctity of their home lives, 
When lords such as this possess power un- 
bounded. 

To blight and to ruin their daughters and wives. 

Virginia's sire, though of birth very humble, 
A soldier has proved himself, quite brave and 
true; 
And he, viewing these acts, soon fathoms the 
baseness, 
And straightway determines what course to 
pursue. 

Quick grasping from butcher's block there near 

the Forum, 

A weapon that for use is kept sharp and keen, 

Virginius swears that from such dreadful fortune, 

That knife her sweet youth forever shall 

screen. 

30 



So, with a grave plea to the much hated Claudius, 
For only a few words of final farewell, 

He draws her aside, and in accents most tender, 
Doth whisper wild words that but prove her 
death knell. 

** Adieu, oh, my darling, my own, precious 
daughter ! 
Adieu now, forever!" the sad father cried, 
'*I11 never more see thee, when daylight is wan- 
ing. 
Come bounding to meet me and walk by my 
side. 

**And home, which thy gladness has ever so 
brightened, 
And which by thy goodness was made paradise, 
Will ever, for want of that sweet grace and 
presence, 
Grow tomb-like with stillness and wear other 
guise. 

** Sweet daughter ! I would have thee know that 

I love thee ! 

And that with a strength that thou never shalt 

see. 

Thus only, from anguish and from nameless evil, 

Can I hope, my darling, to e'er set thee free!" 

With these words, Virginius, the steel high 
uplifted, 
Smote quickly the maiden, so lately his pride; 
One sob, long and startled, with gushing of life- 
blood, 
And fair young Virginia lies dead by his side. 
31 



Then, over the Romans, in that crowded Forum, 
A stillness fell, deathlike, and all held their 
breath 

'Til out spake Virginius, in accents of thunder, 
Arousing the people to vengeance and death. 

They soon rallied round him, all ready for action, 

For well were they pleased with this chance to 

avenge, 

And ere long, Rome's summits, the banks of the 

Tiber, 

Resounded with war's din and cries of revenge. 

The Claudian tyrant, a consummate coward, 
With stones flying round, shook with fear, 
crouched and plead. 
With clients and lictors to save him from stoning 
And death, which they all knew he'd just 
cause to dread. 

But none could be found who were willing to 
save him. 
And wilder and faster the rough missiles sped, 
'Til freedom from tyranny throbbed through 
Rome's pulses. 
And the soul of her despot to judgment had 
fled. 



32 



An Invocation and -A. Wail 

O Spring, O bonnie Spring, how soon 

Wilt thou my senses greet ? 
Fm longing for thy balmy airs 

And for thy perfumes sweet. 



I'm tired of grim old Winter's sway. 

He's ruled us long enough; 
Two months ago I didn't mind 

His tricks, but now they're tough! 

His chilling blasts and foggy rains 

All fleshly ills increase ; 
While mind and temper, wearied out. 

Can only cry, ''Pray, cease!" 

I want the Springtime's warmth and bloom 

Our earth to dominate ; 
I want to wear my new Spring suit, — 

Don't see how I can wait. 

So come, fair Spring, and quicken life 

In bush and bird and tree ! 
And e'en my heart shall feel the thrill 

Of Nature's melody! 



S3 



SKaKespeare 

In days of great Queen Bess, 
Earth's master minds did bless 

The world with light ; 
We see Lord Bacon there, 
Spenser, Ben Jonson *'rare," 
With men whose names outwear 

Oblivion's night. 

But like the god of day. 
Shining with steady ray. 

Great Shakespeare gleams ; 
His words our pulses thrill. 
He leads us where he will. 
Our minds his glories fill 

With radiant beams. 

If we for knowledge seek, 
A fairy-land bespeak 

Of classic lore ; 
If history's page we'd scan. 
All science known to man. 
Since earth or time began. 

Read Shakespeare o'er. 

If vast humanity 

Our study chance to be, 

Its weakness, power, 
No teacher born of men 
Has e'er so deep a ken, 
Or wields with facile pen 

Diviner dower. 
34 



O grandest bard of time, 
Thy thought and art sublime 

We would extol ! 
Far down the ages dim, 
The world shall speak of him, 
The Seer, whose pen did limn 

The human soul. 

And, like to God's great Book, 
Where oft we come to look 

For light in gloom, 
Through this, earth's gifted son. 
May some bright hours be won. 
Some truths, ere life is done. 

Our path illume. 

Then, thanks to God above. 
Who, in His thoughtful love, 

Framed such a soul ; 
To Him our thanks are due. 
To Him our homage true 
We yield with pledges new 

To win Heaven's goal. 

Merrie England 

O merrie England that the poets sing ! 

What visions spring 
Of mailed knight, and joust and tournament! 
Fair queens of love and kings of chivalry! 

Arthur the Good, 

Alfred the Great, 
The bold, romantic outlaw, Robin Hood, 

With all his merry men 
Who dwelt, in that wild age, in old Sherwood! 

35 



Unhappy England, ruled by weakling kings! 

How Shakespeare brings 
Before our eyes, in rarest guise, her woe, 
When John usurps, and Richard Second wanes ! 

When, like a flood, 

For thirty years, 
The land was deluged with her noblest blood 

With Henry Sixth as king 
And ''Maid of Orleans'" life nipped in the 
bud! 



O bloody England of the histories! 

What mysteries, 
Wild, weird, and overflowing with cruel hate, 
Conceived were by brains o'ertopped with 
crowns. 

O Richard Third 

And Henry Eighth, 
What deeds were done at your imperial word, 

What black and hellish deeds 
To indignation all our hearts have stirred. 



O noble England of the later time ! 

What rhythmic rhyme 
Can half disclose to us the sterling worth 
Of English laws and her supremacy. 

To that great Queen 

Elizabeth, 
We bow the head, with admiration keen, 

But to Victoria 
We give our love, and keep her memory green. 

36 



Victorious England of the grand To-day ! 

Mighty her sway ! 
Through the long vista of her passing years, 
From reign to reign, 'til Edward Seventh ap- 
pears. 

Her royal right 

Unchallenged goes, 
To win the guerdon of a nation's might. 

Where'er her banner waves, 
There dwells fair justice as its beacon-light. 



O glorious England in the realm of mind ! 

For there we find 
Great seers and masters that have ruled the 

world. 
Poets whose songs spell immortality — 

The Brownings rare, 

Lord Tennyson, 
Shakespeare, the fairest of the kingly fair, 

With many great and good 
Who, rightfully, James' crowned garland wear. 



This tribute to the land from which we sprang, 

When once there rang 
O'er land and sea the cry of Liberty, 
Is paid by one who better loves her own 

Anointed land. 

Whose growing power 
The wonder of the world does now command. 

In our America 
We plainly see Jehovah's guiding hand. 

37 



And when the Nations of the world shall wait, 

In solemn state, 
The final sentence of the Judge supreme, 
Where all earth's deeds shall find their recom- 
pense 

For victories won 

O'er human wrong, 
For guiding to the cross of God's dear Son, 

England-America 
Shall win the jeweled crown, and God's *'well 
done!" 



38 



Spring, Sxjmmer, Axitvimn, and 
Love 

Prologue 

*' Backward, turn backward, O Time in your 

flight ! 
Make me a girl again, just for tonight!'' 
Down through the vistas of life's backward 

track, 
O let me wander, and I will bring back 
Memories so precious, so pure and so fair, 
'Twill brighten life's west, and banish the care. 

Time! Old Time! hoary -headed, relentless 

and grim, 
Though, with your wild mists, my eyes have 

grown dim. 
If thou wilt turn back some leaves from life's 

book, 
And on those bright pages allow me to look, 
My vision will clear with the strength of youth, 
While I read a sweet story of girlhood and truth. 
Though tired my feet with the rough, stony road 
O'er which thou hast led, bearing many a load, 
If, over the smoothness of youth's sunny way, 

1 may but just loiter one long, happy day, 
Footsore and weary no longer I'll be, 

With Spring's trilling gladness enfolding me ! 

39 



PART FIRST 

How throb the slow pulses 

At simply the mention 
Of Jersey's fair town, 

Historic old Trenton ! 
What visions of heroes, 

Of warfare and victory, 
Thrill souls patriotic, 

And live in the memory ! 

Quite late in the sixties. 

One first of September, 
Two jolly maids met, — 

How well I remember ! 
Intent upon learning 

The wisdom of sages, 
Also how best to teach 

Youths of all ages. 

In said town of Trenton 

They entered the *' Normal/' 
Their acquaintance at first 

Being simply quite formal, 
But being companions 

Through school lights and shadows, 
Both studying bravely 

And sharing their sorrows. 

They grew close together 

In love and in learning. 
Vying each with the other, 

And for fame calmly yearning. 
40 



What sparring ! What cramming ! 

What follies ! What capers ! 
What true, steady striving 

Gleam forth through Time's vapors. 

Ah, yet while I scan them, 

Youth's fair mountain ranges, 
How clear glows her image 

Through all of their changes ! 
But girlhood won't linger. 

Though woo her we may, 
With laughter and singing. 

All through life's May day! 



And Huldah and Jennie, 

In due time, with honor 
Did win graduation, 

Each bearing upon her 
Bright mem'ries and tender 

Of halcyon school days, 
While tearfully parting, 

To wend each her own ways. 

Then came the teaching. 

The trials, the hard test. 
While giving to others 

Their trained minds' very best. 
They spanked 'em and taught 'em 

And trained 'em aright, 
Those poor, naughty urchins 

Who dwelt in their sight. 
41 



And though they were parted, 

These two schoolmates loving, 
On friendship's pure altar 

They kept the flame burning. 
Dear letters ! those rich links 

That chain souls together. 
And grant them sweet converse 

Through fair or foul weather. 

But one day maid Huldah, 

While walking demurely 
The old beaten path 

She thought she trod surely, 
'Gan hearing love songs 

In the trees overhead, 
While golden the grass grew 

Beneath her light tread. 

Her heart, full of mu§ic, 

Seemed bursting for joy, 
And life, late a sad thing, 

Now seemed a fair toy. 
Dear girl, she had found it, — 

Life's rarest sweet blessing! 
Then, modest, her lips moved. 

The secret confessing. 

PART SECOND 

When Autumn's red splendor 
Flamed over the Earth, 

To witness the bridal 
And honor its worth, 
42 



With goldenrod dancing 

And asters in bloom, 
And God's golden sunlight 

Dispelling all gloom, — 

This maid and her lover 

(A nobleman rare) 
Joined hands at the altar, 

And plighted troth there. 
Ah, who minds life's burdens 

With such hidden sweetness ! 
*' Two souls with but one thought" 

Assures life's completeness. 

PART THIRD 

Above this world's glories, 

Successes and gains, 
Above Nature's freshness and bloom. 

Springs Love, the immortal, 
The essence of life. 

Lone victor o'er death and the tomb. 

Oh, whether two souls 

In the May-morn of life, 
'Neath Love's brooding wings nestle warm, 

Or whether shines brightly 
The love-light of friends, 

Triumphant above every storm, 

Or whether in God's heart 

Our quick pulses beat, 
And He holds the treasure secure. 

Love, white- winged, resplendent, 
Evangel of light, 

The hope of the world, shall endure! 
43 



PART FOURTH 

The fragrant years, they come and they go, 
The mists and the shadows between ; 

Though sorrow visits their treasured home, 
They keep their hearts' memories green. 

For Spring cannot last, though ever so fair. 

The flowers will wither and die. 
And summer's verdure must yield to blight. 

And leaden will grow the bright sky. 

But sunshine would pall were there never a 
cloud, 

And no matter how dismal the day, 
We are always sure that back of the dark 

Hides the brightness of Hope's silver ray. 

So here we have come to greet them to-night ; 

For, married for twenty-five years. 
They think they've a right to feel jolly and 
bright. 

No room for remorse or for tears. 

And with silver stars shining o'erhead, 
The silver streaks decking their crowns. 

The silver moon sparkling as bright as of yore, 
Unheeding the world's smiles or frowns. 

Our lovers, their steps not halting or slow. 

Are trudging full bravely the road 
Which slopes toward the sunset, the goal, the 
prize ! 
The pathway which leads up to God ! 
44 



A, CHristmas Ode 

(Written by request, and recited by the 
children at Simpson M. E. Church, Dec, 1888. 
Each child wore the letter which began his or 
her stanza.) 

Many are the merry days 

That dawn throughout the year, 

But none can thrill the children's hearts 
Like Christmas, with its cheer. 

Every eye with gladness beams, 
And every face grows bright. 

At thought of dear old Santa Claus, 
Who comes at dead of night. 

Rattling down our chimneys. 

With toys upon his back. 
For every boy and girl in town. 

Remembered in his pack. 

Remembering all the pleasure 
Of Christmas times gone by. 

And all the happy, golden hours, 
Of days that are more nigh, 

You'll join me in saluting 

This grand old Christmastide, 

While of its holier meaning. 
She'll speak, who's by my side. 
45 



Christ, our Lord, the fairest gift, 

To any mortal given. 
So many years ago to-night. 

Came down to earth, from Heaven. 

He came, but as a little child, 

In lowly manger laid ; 
But rich, wise men did come from far, 

And there great homage paid. 

Rich gifts before him there they laid, 

And at his baby feet 
They knelt, and worshiped worthily 

The King they'd come to greet. 

In Heaven's dome they'd read the sign 
That God to them had given, 

And Bethlehem's star did guide from far, 
To Bethlehem's King of Heaven. 

So strange it seems, that in such place. 

And in that infant child, 
Should center such a royal hope. 

For all with sin defiled. 

Thus 'tis to all who love His name, 

A golden, gracious time; 
And dearer gift than all beside. 

And happier, gladder chime 

May come to us, and make us blest. 

If we but ask Him in, 
To dwell with us, and care for us. 

And free us from all sin. 

46 



As in that distant, dim, old time, 

The wise men from afar 
Sought Christ, with gifts so rich and rare, 

Led only by a star, 

So we, this holy Christmas day, 

This holy Christ will seek, 
And offer Him our Christmas gifts. 

These lives, these hearts, made meek. 

Then, Merry Christmas to you all. 
Dear friends, now gathered here! 

And may we all, when life is done, 
Up there, with Him, appear. 



-A. Valentine 

*Mong all the charming folks I know, 
There's only one that could bestow 
The love for which I hanker so. 
The heart which here I send to you 
Is large and perfect, leal and true. 
It acheth now with longings great 
To find a happy household mate. 
The meaning of the pansy sweet 
Will crown my life if thou but meet. 
Halfway, my tender, willing feet. 
Say "yes" right quick, and we shall feel 
Like dancing a Virginia Reel. 



47 



THe City Streets 

I am sitting by my window, 

On the corner of the street, 
Watching throngs of restless people 

Going by with busy feet. 

Now there comes the man of business. 

And a lawyer, I surmise. 
By the cunning, treacherous twinkle 

Visible in both his eyes. 

Right behind him, walking briskly, 
With a book beneath his arm, 

Comes an ^sculapian student 
With no thought of doing harm, 

As his rich imagination. 

Reveling in prospects bright. 

Leads him through enchanted chambers 
Lined with sick-beds ; — pleasing sight ! 

But the women ! Oh the women ! 

With their flounces and their *' humps' 
High-heeled gaiters, tinkling ear-drops, 

And a host of nameless *' trumps,'* 

How they mince and flirt and simper. 
As they pass some foppish beau; 

'Tis a matter now for wonder 
What they see to chaim them so! 

48 



Ah, the women, ah, the women! 

'Tis a melancholy fact 
That the ''glorious, heavenly creatures," 

Full of sweetness, and all that, 

Have forgotten their high mission 
Which the Blessed Saviour taught, 

That of doing deeds of goodness. 
All with holy kindness fraught. 

Next I see a tipsy traveler. 

Countenance devoid of wit, 
Crazed condition of the lamp-post 

Causes him to get a **hit. '* 

Close beside him, fit companion. 
Stalks, I deem, the man of crime; 

Vilest, too, of all the persons 
Pictured in this simple rhyme. 

If he thinks to escape from justice, 
He must don a different face. 

For the restless, wicked glitter 
Of his eyes but courts disgrace. 

And his very walk and bearin 

Intimate with telling force 
Fearful tales of wreck and ruin. 

And a hell ward speeding course. 

Ah, how raany wrecked and lost ones 
Jostle through our thoroughfares, 

Bearing in their hearts dark burdens, 

Sheltering demons unawares. 
X 49 



Then, too, there are Sorrow's children, 
Those whose lives are sad and lone, 

Proud ambitions, Hope's fair visions, 
Life's sweet dreamings, — all are done. 

So that, now, with patient longing, 
They are watching on the strand, 

For the grim, yet welcome boatman 
From the sweet and far-off land. 

True it is that all earth's children 

Are not lost to sin and woe. 
For some buds from heavenly bowers 

Drop, and blossom here below. 

Helen 

*'I11, very ill, " they told me; yet at first 
No fear of evil seemed to chill my breast ; 
Surprised and anxious, I could only speak 
Of how she looked when but two days before 
Her presence like the sunshine filled the room, 
For standing here in all her stately growth, 
Incarnate health and vigor — all her face 
Aglow with animation, e'en to me 
She ne'er had seemed so beautiful before. 
All this I said, and still would they repeat 
How ill she was — how very ill — At last 
A sick'ning dread came o'er me, and I asked, 
**Is there no hope?" nor needed a reply. 
For then the truth with all its crushing force 
Broke full upon me, and *' Not dead ! " I cried, 
* * Not dead ! Our Helen ! " In one bitter wail, 

50 



''I cannot bear it." But it was even so. 
They told me all, — how even as she wished, 
The summons to the unknown spirit land 
Had come to her — no wasting sickness laid 
Its blighting hand upon that radiant brow. 
But suddenly the chords of life had snapped. 
And all unselfish to its latest throb, 
The strength of that most noble heart gave out. 
The days went by. As someone in a dream, 
I heard them speak of "Helen's funeral.'' 
I heard them say how beautiful she looked. 
Unaltered save the pallor of the face. 
So calm and smiling. Still the days went by, 
And days seemed weeks, and weeks long, weary 

months, 
To one imprisoned in a single room 
With such a heartache. I but rarely wept, 
I know not what I thought, nor how I felt! 
For thought and feeling both seemed paralyzed. 



'Tis over now. Once more with faltering 
steps 
IVe climbed the stairway leading to her room. 
How eagerly I mounted it before! 
Nor ever lover more content than I 
To hear her ' ' always welcome ! ' ' better still 
To read the welcome in those beauteous eyes 
So full of tenderness — But now — to sit 
Without her in the dear familiar room 
So full of pleasant memories ; to see 
Her pictures on the wall, her favorite books. 
Her pretty knickknacks scattered all around, 

51 



To see her very plants, poor, fragile things, 

Rejoicing in the sun, and then to think 

It shines upon her grave — Thou, God of love, 

Who lent me for a season all the joy 

Of such companionship, Thou wilt forgive 

If o'er my loss too bitterly I grieve 

In feeling I shall never know again 

So rare a friendship. She had done her work, 

Brave, helpful spirit! Oh, how many lives 

Her thoughtful kindness brightened; who shall 

say 
What breadth of sympathy was hers. She knew 
No bigotry of race, no creed, — to her 
All men were brothers, and to all alike 
Whatever their need, she sought to minister, 
In pure unselfishness, — thus ever bore 
A multitude of burdens not her own, 
And spent herself for others day by day, 
Unwearied in well-doing to the end. 
But if by some who never saw her face 
Her memory is cherished, what of those 
Whose happy privilege it was to stand 
Within the inner circle of her life, 
To hold familiar converse all the while 
With that true, generous nature, and enjoy 
That precious intercourse of kindred thoughts 
And hopes and feelings, by which human hearts 
Are knit together. Rare and noble friend! 
Bright, genial Helen! though my tears will fall, 
To think that nevermore upon this earth 
ril hear thy cheery accents, yet, my Love, 
I cannot speak of thee as dead. I try 
To feel that thou wert overburdened here, 

52 



And ofttimes weary, and art now at rest. 
Great, earnest soul, so full of lofty aims 
And generous impulses, to whom this life 
Was no light drama, but a problem fraught 
With countless mysteries of weal and woe, 
I fain would think that in some other sphere 
Of purer happiness thou dwellest now. 
Thy yearnings satisfied, thy questions solved, 
In sweet reunion with those blessed ones 
Who went before thee. There we too shall meet, 
For e'en that thou hast lived is one more proof 
Of our sure, glorious immortality. 

Life and Love 

Of all the fair themes that the poets love, 

There never was one more dear 
Than the well-worn theme of the glad Spring- 
time, 

With its warm new life and its cheer. 

Our Lowell has told us in strains so sweet 
That they've echoed all over the world, 

That in Spring we can hear old earth's heart 
beat, — 
While her blossoming banner's unfurled. 

And, through the broad realm where our fancies 
rove, 
The most cherished nooks, I ween, 
Are those where the blossoms and birdlings and 
flowers 
Of earth's happy Springtide are seen. 
53 



But hark ! from the deeps of the poet's heaven, 
A voice thrills the amber space, — 

And Longfellow, sainted, revered, beloved, 
Calls to us with all his sweet grace, 

And tells us that Nature, though beautiful still 

In shadows or blossoming smiles. 
Is not the great theme of our loftiest thought, 

Though witching and luring her wiles. 

He says that our own lives are more wonderful 
Than bird-life, or moonlight, or flowers — 

And to human heart-life, its hopes, pangs, and 
loves. 
Should be given our most thoughtful hours. 

Now, 'minding us ever of this bard's advice. 
Of what phase of life shall we sing? 

What thrill of the heart-strings is dearest to us, 
And chimes best with this tune of earth's 
Spring ? 

The Spring chimes re-echo the songs in their 
hearts. 

The birds and the blossoms are mating. 
And Nature, our lovers, all God-given life. 

From the May-morn their happiness dating. 

Oh, in yonder fair land where the storms never 
blow, 
Where Springtime and Summer shall reign. 
Where flowers perennial fleck Heaven's fields, 
And whose music holds no minor strain, 
54 



The heart-throbs of life, all its joys, all its griefs, 
Shall blend in one rapturous song, — 

To Him who hath made us and given us Love, 
To Him shall the glory belong ! 

His Valentine 

I hear that St. Valentine, tender old saint, 

Has started again on his round, 
And that gallant lovers and love-longing maids 

Through all this wide country abound. 

I don't know how old the dear creature must be 

Before he gives up in disgust, 
But all who are tender and kindly and true 

Will be loved till they turn into dust. 

The gray hairs that steal through the dark, 
flowing locks. 
For the head form a beautiful crown, 
And, o'er-topping a brain filled with pure, holy 
thoughts. 
Is richer by far than the brown. 

Which many fair maidens, full selfish and proud, 
Delight in and tend with such care. 

Whose brains teem with nothing but silly, vain 
thoughts. 
And to whom a kind impulse is rare. 

You may be rheumatic, asthmatic, and weak. 

Your step may have lost all its grace. 
Your eye may not sparkle with that old-time 
gleam. 
But still in my heart you've a place. 
55 



And when the blest country of immortal youth 
Bursts full on your earth-wearied gaze, 

The sweetness, the freshness, the fairness of Life 
Will on you with full glory blaze. 

And all your good, noble, and generous thoughts, 
Your kind deeds performed here below, 

Will weave for you there in that recompense land 
A valentine, gorgeous, I know. 

But, now, ere you reach that sweet, ecstatic 
state. 

While Cupid flies fast through the air, 
I^want you to know that I love you, my sweet, 

And choose you for my ''Fairest Fair*'! 



j\ Season's Revie-w 

Oh, here's to Shakespeare and his work! 

To lords and ladies fair ! 
To witches gaunt and elfish sprites ! 

To all his heroes rare ! 

His ** Dream of a Midsummer's Night,'* 
With fairies' witching wiles, 

Its human loves and odd mischance, 
Its agonies and smiles, 

We've reveled in, and made our own; 

Have worshiped at the shrine 
Of Venus and her winged boy. 

Whose charms we own divine. 
56 



And Hamlet, melancholy Prince, 
With comely, thoughtful brow, 

We've followed through his ghostly woes, 
And vainly wondered how 

The mystery might be explained, 

And poor Ophelia's fate 
Be reconciled with Hamlet's love. 

Which he avowed, too late ! 

Then came Coriolanus bold, 
With proud, unbending soul ! 

His martial glories, lordly mien, 
His lack of self-control, — 

His tenderness for family. 

His friendships and his hate, 
Volumnia's strong character, 

Her mother's love, its fate, — 

Virgilia's sweet gentleness. 

And well-nigh silent woe, — 
The commons' vast ingratitude, 

The Tribunes' cruel blow 

Of banishment, and his revenge, 

His sacrifice at last. 
Have filled us with the mystic charm 

Of that dim, distant past. 

But, oh, the weird mythologies, 

Of that old heathen time, 
That thrill us with their sweet romance, 

Illuminate the rhyme, 
57 



And make the deeds of Jupiter 

In old Imperial Rome 
As real to us as many a tale 

Of country and of home. 

Besides all this, we've gleaned in fields 

Of richest minstrelsy ! 
Of wisdom's rarest pearls of truth, 

Of Nature's mystery! 

And so, with hearts and minds aflame 

With veneration true, 
For this, the Majesty of bards, — 

We pledge to him anew ! 

And through the summer soon to dawn, 
Where'er our steps may lead, 

By mountain side, through field or town, 
Our minds on these shall feed. 

We'll carry with us all we've learned, 
In this our *' Jove's own book"; 

And, well applied by these bright souls, 
'Twill help our skyward look 

Towards our Father, who for us 
Didst form that wondrous mind ! 

Whom not to love, thank, and adore 
Would prove us wholly blind. 

And now, farewell, my charming friends! 

God bless you, one and all! 
And greatest joy 'twill bring to me 

To greet you in the fall ! 

58 



Vessie 

Ah, the prattling tongue is silent that we loved 

so much to hear, 
And the bright blue eyes have faded, once so 

full of sunny cheer, 
Now the fair, sweet hands are folded on the 

little loving breast. 
And the dimpled feet lie quiet as they take their 

last sad rest. 

On our lives a shadow's fallen, to our hearts a 

blight has come, 
For, through memory's voiceless chambers, 

flits a form once loved and known. 
And across the shattered harp-strings of our sad 

and longing souls 
Come the faint and distant echoes of a mournful 

bell that tolls. 

And the slow and measured beating of that 
melancholy bell. 

Over all the cherished dreamings for our darling, 
tells the knell; 

For we'd hoped to see him fighting on the battle- 
fields of earth. 

Winning never-fading laurels, conquering sin 
with truth and worth. 

Yet we know that in that warfare with a world of 

sin and woe. 
Many a wound and scar and heartache, many a 

sorrow must be known 
59 



Ere the weary siege is ended, and the laurels 

fair are won 
That will in the golden city merit God's sweet 

boon, *' Well done!" 

But those bitter, ceaseless conflicts cannot reach 

our darling now, 
Where Heaven's glory, pure and radiant, rests 

upon his angel brow; 
Where his precious, dimpled fingers music wake 

o'er golden wire. 
While the childish voice of sweetness mingles 

with the cherub choir. 



Ah, could Heaven's glimmering portal open to 
our earth-born gaze. 

Could we catch one witching whisper floating 
down through golden haze. 

We would know what gladsome wonder, child- 
ish glee, and rapture bright 

Flood the soul of little Vessie in that wondrous 
realm of light. 

Then we will no longer mourn him, nor the 

sunlit past recall, 
Though the busy feet may never trip along the 

lonely hall ; 
Though to us the wandering breezes ne'er again 

may bear the tone 
Of the merry, ringing laughter, like sweet bells 

of childhood's own. 
60 



And, as onward still we journey, and the swift 

years come and go, 
On a more celestial current shall our inner beings 

flow 
Till the wear and heat and sorrow of our lives 

are safely passed, 
When we'll clasp our sainted ''Vessie" in the 

sweet home-land at last. 



Valentine 

lady fair. 

With dark brown hair. 

And eyes that correspond in hue, 

The time is come 

When to be dumb 

Concerning all these charms in you 

Would be most strange. 

For in this age 

Of verse and card and valentine, 

Tis quite *Hhe thing'' 

At times to sing. 

And laud such virtues as are thine. 

Your merit great 

1 cannot state. 

'Tis far beyond my humble ken; 
But this I know, 
I love you so, 

I could not stay my modest pen. 
6i 



Therefore, my '*dove/' 

My sweetest love, 

Accept, I pray, this tribute slight. 

And do not try 

My name to spy, 

For I should blush if brought to light. 

Just so, dear friend. 

E'en to the end, 

Ne'er doubting that thy heart is mine, 

Now shall I straight. 

In glad estate. 

E'en send this humble valentine. 

Love's Voyage 

Shall we embark on the sea of life. 

You and I together? 
Will you say you'll be my little wife. 

And trust me altogether? 

Shall we go aboard the little boat 
And sail toward a beautiful clime? 

Or shall we sometimes sit and float. 
And have a jolly time? 

They say the sea is sometimes rough. 

And wintry is the weather. 
The skies grow dark, and ''Times" get tough, 

And it's miserable altogether. 

But it's lots more fun to dare and do, 
Than to stand and be filled with longing, 

For hearts are brave when years are few. 
And Hope shines bright in the morning. 
62 



And if the stormy winds do blow, 

And threaten to upset us, 
'Twill make us strong to pull and row, 

And Hope shall not forsake us. 

And then what fun 'twill be to watch 
The evening shadows lengthen. 

And heavenly breezes try to catch, 
That will our faint hearts strengthen. 

And when the golden shore looms up, 

Before our raptured vision. 
We shall have quafifed life's flowing cup, 

And thus fulfilled our mission. 



Cast TKy Burden on tKe Lord 

*'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He will 

sustain thee." 
** Trust ye in the Lord forever, for in the Lord 

Jehovah is everlasting strength. 
** Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will 

direct thy paths." 

A message sweet from Him who died for you ! 
Some loving words from Him, the leal and true; 
Some promises from Him whose word is sure, — 
The changeless One, whose love and care endure. 

Oh, sweeter than the ''music of the spheres," 
Or sweetest strain e'er heard by mortal ears. 
Come floating through the tuned and listening 

soul. 
These witching words that make the spirit whole. 

63 



Oh, precious burdened one, your load lay down 
At His dear feet, who wears a kingly crown. 
Your burden's heavy, but your King is strong, 
And He will bear both you and it along 

The fairest path your feet have ever trod. 
Since on it shines the light of ** Trust in God.'* 
If you no burden had, you could not know 
The bliss He's only waiting to bestow. 

And oft 'mid scenes as dark as deepest night, 
When comes to harassed souls no ray of light. 
To them who claim His promises of might, 
God's sovereign power to help will set things 
right. 

So, cast thy burden on thy loving Lord, 
And grasp fulfilment of His promised word, 
In sweetest comfort, peace, and blessed rest, 
With full assurance that His ways are best. 

Written for Dr. J. Freeman Atwood, the 
brother of the author, at the beginning of his 
fatal illness. 



SHe HatK Done WKat SKe Could 



*'She hath done what she could," said the 
Master — 

No flattering words half so meet ! 
No trait of the human so perfect. 

And none merits blessing more sweet. 

64 



Lord, I, too, am a woman, — and weary; 

Fve ''done what I could," and I pray 
In Thy dear arms may I, finding shelter. 

Watch the Dawn of Eternity's Day! 



65 



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